"It's advanced septicemia, along with a case of stomatitis."
I look up at Hank as he exits Leonardo's room, removing the surgical mask he had placed over his face as a precaution. I've been sitting on the floor of the destroyed hallway with Colossus, Kitty, Splinter, Leatherhead, Donatello, and Raphael. It's clear that some of us really aren't in the mood for big words. "And in English, that would be….?" Raphael asks.
"Blood poisoning," Donatello answers. With a gulp, he adds, "And mouth rot, too. Oh… oh God." Splinter asks if it's as serious as it sounds, and Donatello's only response is to look down and squeeze his eyes shut. I'm disturbed by how much he looks just as he did when he had been under hypnosis in Leatherhead's lab. As Leatherhead comfortingly puts a massive arm around his shoulders and Kitty puts a sympathetic hand on the turtle's arm, I have the feeling that Donatello is going to need a whole lot of counseling once this is over. That is… if it ever is over.
As Raphael rises to his feet, it's obvious that the side effects of his medications have worn off. "Okay," he says, apparently trying very hard to remain calm. He gives Hank a stern look as he asks, "Can ya fix it?"
"'Fix' isn't the word I'd use for this, Raphael," Hank says after a moment's hesitation. "It is only with aggressive antibiotic therapy and a long period of patient waiting that either of those diseases can be treated, never mind being altogether cured. The healers will do all they can, but they've been nearly depleted just by dealing with Rogue and Kurt."
This response clearly isn't good enough for Raphael. He growls and makes for Hank, but Splinter quickly jumps to his feet and pulls his student back. "What do ya mean, 'never mind cured?' Ya sayin' ya can't guarantee that Leo will be okay? Is that what you're sayin'?"
Hank's silence acts as his answer. "This is stupid," Raphael screams. "Look at ya. You're the big genetic specialist around here. And we got Donnie and Leatherhead workin' on our side, too. You three are probably the smartest mutant team in the world. Can't you do nuthin'? What good are your freakin' brains for anyway, if ya can't cure a couple 'a diseases? My brother just put his stupid soul on the line for me, 'n I'm just expected to sit here and accept the fact that the batteries on your healers are runnin' low? They're healers! Let 'em heal themselves, then use every single one 'a them on Leo. All of 'em except one. Use that one on me so I can get in fightin' condition and go find the little demon that did this to my brother and kill it with my bare hands!!"
"You can't kill it, Raph," Donatello murmurs, his eyes still closed. "It's in Mikey, remember? We've got the X-Men out looking for him now, and they're the only ones who can do anything about this." Raphael utters a curse, telling us just what he thinks about us having to wait on the X-Men.
"This is crazy," I breathe, running my hands through my hair. "And I was so looking forward to a couple of hours of shuteye. After looking at Leo's face though…." I trail off, seeing the pained expression on Splinter and deciding against mentioning how my nightmares are going to be infected by Leonardo's ailing face for weeks.
"We need Nightcrawler," I admit. "Nightcrawler and his silly little Spanish occult book that he got from Limbo. Maybe there's something in there that…. Donnie. You know Spanish, don't you?"
Donatello opens his eyes and looks at me. "There are limits even to my knowledge, Spidey," he tells me. Under normal circumstances, I know he would have never admitted such a thing. "I've taught myself Latin, though. It might take me a while to wade through it, but I'm sure I could make some sense of the text. Where's this book?"
"I saw it in the bag by Kurt's bed," Kitty offers, standing up. "Come on. I know a little Italian, so maybe I can be of some help. Most romance languages tend to be similar anyway."
As Donatello allows Kitty to help him up and lead him back towards Kurt's, I flash Colossus a glance just loaded with veiled humor. "Speaking of romance languages," I murmur, "this should get amusing." Judging by the blank look on his broad face, he's got no clue what I'm talking about.
I debate whether or not to tell him that I suspect that his girl has got a green admirer, but I'm stopped by a loud yell and a crash. Looking up, I see that Raphael has just punched a hole through the wall. Yeah, that's going to do wonders for the healing process.
"Hope ya know that's gonna come outta your tab." I see Wolverine appear from over the pile of debris, his arms crossed over his chest as he eyes Raphael. "Just came back from the security room. All our surveillance equipment's failed, and it looks like our telepaths are all on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Something's brewing out there, boy, and we're gonna need ya intact. Think ya can handle that?"
"Stay outta this, Wolverine," Raphael murmurs, his fist still embedded in the wall. "One 'a my brothers is dyin', and the other one's probably gone for good. This ain't the time to gimme no teamwork buddy-buddy lecture, got that?"
"You know what's pissing me off about this, hotshot?" Wolverine asks, lowering his hands to his sides as he slowly approaches Raphael. "That thing I hear in your voice, it ain't anger. Sounds an awful lot like depression, if ya ask me. Self-pitying, wallowing, pathetic depression. Never woulda took you for a wimp, Raph."
Raphael snarls, pulling his hand out and turning towards Wolverine. Leatherhead gets up, meaning to come between them, but Splinter pulls him back. Hank and I glance at one another, both too worried and drained to know how to deal with two Wolverine characters walking around the Institute.
"It's soundin' a lot like you're wantin' to start somethin', Logan," Raphael scowls.
"From the looks of things," Wolverine tells him, stopping just in front of the turtle, "I can start whatever I want. You don't look like you're in any position to do nothing about it." Another growl sounds as Raphael quickly grabs Wolverine by the collar of his shirt and lands a solid punch on his jaw. I flinch, already attending Raphael's funeral in my mind.
Wolverine hardly acknowledges the hit and grabs Raphael's wrist. With his other hand, he gives the turtle's shell a hard shove, making Raph crash against the wall face-first. Raphael cries out again, but this is a frustrated, angry yell as Wolverine grabs his other arm and pins him firmly against the wall. "What do ya wanna do, Raph?" Logan asks. "It's your move."
"I wanna rip your damned head off, that's what I wanna do!"
"Good," Logan responds, giving him a small smirk. "Then that means you ain't depressed anymore. You're furious. Outraged. You feel that fire in the pit of your stomach, and you're gonna use it when we figure out who needs to get beat for what's happened to Leo. Because trust me, kid, someone's coming. I can smell it in the air. So instead of you sitting around and beating up on inanimate objects because ya know they can't fight back, you're gonna let that fire burn. Save it up real good. And when it's time to let it out, you ain't gonna need to hide behind a smokescreen. You're gonna be the scary-ass inferno, and you're gonna do it for Leo and Mikey. You got that?"
Raphael's breathing hard, but he stopped fighting against Wolverine when he realized that this was just a lesson of sorts. He lets out an irate groan, and I can see him blinking away something that looks suspiciously like a tear. "Yeah," he finally answers. "I hear ya loud 'n clear."
Wolverine slowly lets go of him and steps away. Raphael looks like he wants to slump against the wall and hide his face, but he shows a good deal of courage when he takes a deep breath and turns around and looks Wolverine in the eye. Seeing Raphael rubbing his wrists, Wolverine remarks, "Better let Beast have a look at that, kid. An inferno ain't no good if he can't use his hands."
Raphael nods. Splinter steps up besides him and adds, "And I believe that, after your wounds have been tended to, you and I can both stand to go into some deep meditation, my son." Raphael looks like he's about to disagree, but Logan cuts him off.
"Daddy knows best," he says with the barest trace of a smile. "Your family needs ya, so humor the ones you still got around with ya. You ain't War no more; you're just Raph. So be Raph." Raphael says nothing, merely allowing for Splinter to take his arm and gently lead him towards Hank's office, with Hank following close behind.
"Most impressive," Leatherhead gasps after a moment. "Other than Splinter, I've never seen Raphael actually… well… listen to anyone."
"He seemed to listen to me," Colossus offers.
"He was stoned when he was with you," I remind him.
"Was he?" Colossus asks, genuinely surprised. "He seemed like such a cheerful fellow."
"Much as I don't mind people marveling over somebody's temper other than mine," Wolverine tells us as he leans against the wall, "we got a problem. Possessed mutant turtle running around, remember? And if Pestilence got Mikey to do whatever he did to Leo, I'd hate to see what'll happen if he encounters any of my boys that're out looking for him. Emma's tried to locate him with Cerebra, hoping that the X-gene in him can get picked up, but it looks like Cerebra ain't cooperating."
"Couple of things in response to that," I say. "Hank gave the turtles a dose of the mutant cure. I'm guessing that this corrupt X-gene wasn't actually something that the demons brought in so much as it was something Sinister did to them. Sinister was probably hoping that the gene would be able to incubate within their bodies and turn into some snazzy new powers. Clearly, these demons are strong enough on their own, so Emma's not likely to pick up any X-gene readings coming from Mike. Secondly, Mikey's not Pestilence. At least, not exclusively. The explosions he set off were indicative of War. And I saw a plant shrivel up and die when he touched it."
"Famine," Leatherhead remarks.
"I'd bet my spider-sense on it," I reply. "My guess is, Mikey was the first of the turtles to be put completely under his demon's influence. Since Pestilence had such a strong hold over him, the demon was able to hold out long enough to let his 'brothers' share his pad when they got evicted, so to speak."
"And given the nasty things Death was saying about them," Wolverine surmises, "I can bet that they were none too happy about being left to fight their own battle. Either they didn't know that their brother's been killed, or they just resented Leo for some reason or the other. And they decided to take him out."
"Mr. Logan," Leatherhead says, "you claim to smell an oncoming presence in the air. It's wholly possible that the demons which have taken over Michelangelo simply attacked Leonardo because they wished to distract us from this new arrival. If the security system has been breached and is no longer in working order—as were the turtles' shell cells when they were initially possessed—could there be something happening right here, under our noses? That might explain why your telepaths are responding in such a terrified manner."
"I think ya might just have something, gator boy," Wolverine responds thoughtfully.
"I'm crocodilian, actually," Leatherhead corrects.
Ignoring the new piece of trivia, Wolverine turns to me quickly. It could just be my imagination, but I swear I almost saw a wince on his face. Maybe his sword wound's not as patched up as he would have liked Raphael to believe. "Look at you sitting on your ass, Parker. What about that tracer you put on Mike? Have you tried it out?"
I slap my forehead, astounded. "Whoa, holy memory lapse, Batman!" Wolverine gives me a hard look, and I mutter, "Sorry, wrong superhero." I rise to my feet, telling them, "Yeah, that's how we found Sinister's lair in the first place. I'll go head over to Hank's lab. I left my equipment over there."
"I will accompany you," Leatherhead tells me. "At a time such as this, it probably wouldn't be the wisest decision to split up any more than we have to."
"Right," Wolverine agrees. "So while you and Leatherhead are tracking down the evil turtle, me and Colossus can get to working on clearing out this hallway. I ain't one for housekeeping, but with a few close friends in Dreamland on this floor, it'd be a good idea to keep this dust outta their respiratory systems."
"Agreed," Colossus says. As he stands up, his metal exterior takes over. "If you need us, we shall be here. Call on us at the slightest signs of disturbance." As Leatherhead and I begin sprinting towards Hank's lab, Wolverine tells us that he'll let us know if he gets any telepathic messages from Emma.
As we walk quickly side-by-side, I give Leatherhead a sideways glance. "You know, don't take this the wrong way, but the last time I encountered a giant, green, reptilian scientist, he was slightly insane and bent on turning the entire world into huge humanoid lizards. It took me a while to actually take to you, but I'm glad I did."
"Why, Mr. Parker," Leatherhead laughs. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were using sentimentality in the hopes of building up more alliances in case one of us should get possessed."
"Gosh," I murmur, stepping into the lab that was directly across from the office where Hank and Splinter were looking after Raphael's injuries, "you really are smart."
Leatherhead chuckles again as he turns on the light. "Never fear, Mr. Parker. You have proven yourself on more than one occasion to be a true friend to the turtles. After knowing them as long as I have, I can safely say that any friend of theirs is most certainly a friend of mine."
"Well, since we're friends," I tell him, grabbing my tracker and flicking it on, "I guess it won't hurt to call me Peter when I'm not in costume, huh? My students call me Mr. Parker, and I really don't want to think about how I'm going to give my next science lesson when I've just spent the weekend fighting demons."
"As yes, the eternal dichotomy," Leatherhead sighs as he makes his way towards the window in the far corner of the room. "Science versus the supernatural. What we see everyday with our eyes versus what we have come to believe with our emotions. In one room, two people are currently pouring over an ancient volume in order to decipher its secrets about Spanish demonology, and another two are in a laboratory using state-of-the-art equipment to locate a mutated turtle. Both the technical and the mystical have validity in this situation, though both are tales that the average citizen would scoff at as being nothing than nonsense. Being something other than human, Mr. Pa-… Peter, and yet being so closely-related to the Homo sapiens that run this world, I wonder what you would have to say on the subject."
Trying to tune the signal on my tracker since I'm not getting any readings, I absently reply, "I believe in science when I have to, and I believe in the Random when science doesn't make sense. Lately, I find myself believing in the Random a whole lot more."
He doesn't answer for a long time. Finally, his voice taking on an air of severity, he breathes, "Unfortunately, I find the same to hold true for myself as well."
"Stupid device!" I mutter as I put the tracker on the table. "It looks like there's some kind of electromagnetic disturbance. Either that, or the signal's just momentarily jammed. I can't get a fix on Mikey."
"You don't have to worry about that." Looking up at Leatherhead, I notice that he's looking out the window. Not liking the gravity in his voice, I ask him what he means, worrying for a minute that he's managed to get a demon of his own living in his body. Instead, he answers, "It would appear that I've found our turtle."
"Mikey?" I ask, moving towards him. "Where is he? What's he doing?"
"Oh," Leatherhead answers, "it looks like an arcane ritual that's aimed at drawing forth an unspeakable evil." I stop in my tracks, wondering where this guy got his sense of humor. Stepping besides him and peering out the window, I'm a little discouraged when I realize that he wasn't using his sense of humor.
"Huh." I murmur. "Well, that can't be good."
If it weren't for his bright orange eye mask, I wouldn't have even been able to see Mikey sitting on the grass so far in the distance. His face was raised towards the sky, and I could see the gauzy outlines of the demons overflowing from his body and his eyes shined red in the approaching sunrise. For once, I can feel the ball of nerves in my stomach instead of my spider-sense, so I'm hoping that means we still have time.
I turn away from the window, heading quickly across the way to Hank's office with Leatherhead on my trail. Without knocking, I barge in. Hank, Splinter, and Raphael look up at me, surprised by my uncharacteristic intrusion. "Hank," I say. "The Celestials. What do you know about them?"
He doesn't seem to understand what I'm talking about, so I clarify, "Kurt said something about Apocalypse being judged by the Celestials, and that bringing him back to Earth would defy the cosmic law or something. What do you know about it?"
Affixing a bandage on Raphael's hand, Hank looks down in quiet contemplation. "I'm afraid I can't help you, Peter. No one knows anything about the Celestials. How Kurt would come to the conclusion that their will is 'cosmic law' is beyond me."
I'm about to tell him that Kurt read it in a book, but I stopped myself. The book. Of course. "Hank," I tell him. "I need to speak with Don and Kitty. And I don't want to cause any kind of alarm, but maybe you should consider telling Emma to peek out at the east end of the estate. Fast."
He asks me what I mean, and Raphael gets up and asks if I've found Mike. I say nothing, already scrambling past Leatherhead and running towards Kurt's room. Again, I storm in without so much as a knock. Donatello and Kitty look up at me from a small desk, where they've been trying to translate Kurt's book.
"Guys!" I cry out as I approach them. "Find anything about the Celestials?" They have no idea what I'm talking about, so I explain, "Cosmic law. Judgment of Apocalypse. Bring him back to Earth and everything goes topsy-turvy. Stumble on any of that yet?"
As Donatello flips through the book, Kitty answers, "I think I remember the Celestials. Apocalypse attacked the Institute, and just when it looked like our goose was cooked, they came out of nowhere and took him away. According to Kurt, though, not everyone who encounters them actually remembers them afterwards. I'd hardly think some 12th-century Spanish writer would know enough details to actually put them in a book."
"Hold on," Donatello tells her, stopping at a page and scanning the lines with his finger. "I think I passed by something that… here. Apparently, the word 'celestial' is a cognate. Good thing, or else I would have never picked up on it."
"What's it say?" I ask, leaning in over his shoulder.
He pauses for a moment, struggling with the Spanish and knowing from my haste that something was up. "Something about… the demons… collecting? Utilizing? The demons do something with the… energy… the energia etheríca de los Celestiales."
"The etheric energy," I realize. Of course. Something as powerful as the Celestials seem to be would probably leave behind massive doses of residual etheric energy, perhaps disturbing the atmosphere for months. If those demons could properly harvest that energy, they might have enough power to bring Apocalypse back to Earth. By bringing Mikey back to the Institute, we practically did their job for them.
"Kitty," I ask after a moment. "When you guys faced off with Apocalypse here at the Institute… it wouldn't happen to have been on the east end of the grounds, would it?"
She thinks for a moment, then widens her eyes. Understanding what I'm getting at, she rushes to the window besides Kurt's bed. "Kitty?" Donatello asks. Looking up at me, he inquires, "Has something come up? Is Mikey involved?"
"Pete," Kitty breathes, apparently catching sight of something out the window. "I'm gathering that some of the X-Men know there's a red alert, right?" I tell her that she's right, and she turns to look at Don. "Donnie, keep reading. Maybe you'll find something that can help us out. And keep an eye on Kurt. If anything… if anything blasts through here, I'm counting on you to protect him."
Donatello doesn't look too happy about being left behind, but I can see the flash of fear in his eyes. Whatever's out there, he doesn't want to face it. Not now, and not ever, if he can help it. He finally gives her a small nod, telling her, "I'll do my best."
Kitty looks up at me. "You're not suited up," she states, "but you're gonna have to get Scott's clothes a little dirty. Think you can stand the wrath of Cyclops?" I wryly tell her that I live for such confrontations. She scampers over towards me and grabs my hand. "Let's hope you get to live for those kinds of things for a long, long time."
With that, she drags me towards the window and walks us through the wall.
